


watermelon hearts

by kamyska



Category: NCT (Band), TOMORROW X TOGETHER | TXT (Korea Band)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, M/M, Nonbinary Choi Yeonjun, Slice of Life, Trans Mark Lee (NCT), that's really all it is they are friends who kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 00:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30063993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamyska/pseuds/kamyska
Summary: Yeonjun presses the can to their forehead, cool water droplets running down to their temples and into their newly buzzed hair and making shivers run down their spine. They close their eyes for a moment to focus on the feeling before it disappears and when they open them again Mark is sitting cross-legged at their side, positioned perfectly so the air from the air conditioner ruffles his hair.Yeonjun sits up across from him to drink, which is when they notice: “You’re sweating pink!”(summers are far too hot in mark and yeonjun's studio apartment)
Relationships: Choi Yeonjun/Mark Lee (NCT)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 24





	watermelon hearts

**Author's Note:**

> have these two ever said a word to each other in real life? i don't know and clearly it didn't stop me from writing this
> 
> a very brief selection of songs for this fic: [tú - maye](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jhQ4WVJwz7w) [peach - kevin abstract](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WGbLX4u6kyk) [kiss kiss - shinee](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nbFm3E9IjMM) [cigarette - offonoff](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AamatUtxev4) [watermelon sugar - harry styles](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7-x3uD5z1bQ)

July in Seoul is oppressive, heat and humidity heavy on Yeonjun’s shoulders whenever they have to step outside their apartment building for more than two seconds. Today, they have delegated the fight for survival to Mark, leaving him to run to the corner store while Yeonjun lies sprawled in the coolest part of the flat, the floor under where the air conditioner is turned on full blast.

There are benefits to having west oriented windows - beautiful sunsets, sun-dried clothes, actually seeing sunlight sometimes during winter - but it makes summers nigh unbearable, even with the help of their little air conditioning unit whirring at full speed. The floor is the best place to be and Yeonjun spends as much time starfished on it as they can, feeling their skin stick to the wooden floorboards and watching dust travel around in sunlight.

It’s nearing evening now, late enough that dinner may be in order but early enough that the temperature outside is still in the high 30s, the sun reflecting muted orange of a pollution-filtered sunset on the walls of their apartment. They’re a couple hours out from Yeonjun’s favourite time of day, when the sun bathes the apartment in pink just before it sets and makes their lives feel magical for a couple minutes before it succumbs to the night. After that, of much importance this time of year, the temperatures let off a little and it is possible to move again without immediately breaking a sweat.

Yeonjun is wondering idly about what to have for dinner when Mark comes back, the beeping of their lock making Yeonjun look up and giving them a full view of the way Mark slumps back against the front door to heave a couple of breaths before he slips out of his shoes and walks to the kitchen to put the newly acquired groceries in the fridge. He comes back with two cans of sprite, visibly wet and so blessedly cold when he hands one of them to Yeonjun.

Yeonjun presses the can to their forehead, cool water droplets running down their temples and into their newly buzzed hair and making shivers run down their spine. They close their eyes for a moment to focus on the feeling before it disappears and when they open them again Mark is sitting cross-legged at their side, positioned perfectly so the air from the air conditioner ruffles his hair.

Yeonjun sits up across from him to drink, which is when they notice: “You’re sweating pink!”

Mark brings a hand up to swipe right above the frame of his glasses and his fingertips come off stained the softest pink, colour of sunset and watermelon juice.

“Shit, I thought you said this colour wasn’t gonna stain. Fuck, I’m wearing a white shirt too.”

“Sorry? Maybe you just didn’t wash it out well though, it’s not necessarily  _ my _ fault. Let me see if you’ve gotten it on your shirt?”

Mark moves and Yeonjun had meant for him to turn around so that Yeonjun could assess if any of the pink dye had gotten on his shirt in the back but instead he pulls his shirt off in one uncharacteristically smooth motion and then he’s sitting in front of Yeonjun in his shorts only, soft skin and surgery scars and the trail of hair on his stomach all visible. He hands Yeonjun the shirt and Yeonjun can hear themself swallow as they take it from his hand.

It’s embarrassing, really, the way their eyes refuse to focus on the task at hand, the way they insist on trailing the planes and curves of Mark Lee’s chest as he lies down on the floor, can of sprite positioned over his belly button. Yeonjun feels something lodge itself in their throat as they watch a stray water droplet trail the curve of his waist, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

They close their eyes for a second to calm the fuck down and thank the gods that Mark has been looking at the ceiling this whole time and then unclench their fists from his shirt, shaking it out for inspection, effectively blocking their view of Mark in all his shirtless glory. It seems to have come out unscathed so Yeonjun throws it back at Mark in an attempt to cover at least some of him. When they chance a look at his face Mark is already looking at them, eyes quizzical.

“What.”

“‘m hungry.” Mark, mostly skin and a pout on his lips, is a dangerous sight to behold.

“Sounds like a you problem.” Yeonjun flops back onto the floor, eyes tracing the cracks in the paint on the ceiling just so they don’t have time to trace the curves of the boy lying next to them.

“Come on, it’s-” Mark’s voice fades out in favour of the sound of his palms on the floor, searching for his phone. He sighs when he doesn’t find it. “It’s definitely time for dinner now, I  _ know _ you want to eat something.”

Yeonjun gives up pretending they haven’t been thinking about food for the past half hour. “Do we have anything here? Did you get anything edible?”

They chance a look at Mark, waves of pink hair and a bare, boney shoulder all that is visible of him from this angle. He’s tracing out the cracks on the ceiling too, it seems. Or maybe he’s fallen asleep, it wouldn’t be the first time. 

“Hmmm I got ramyun?” He turns his head so that a single questioning eye peeks out from under the pink mop. “Ramyun?”

The idea of hot noodles seems about as pleasant to Yeonjun as a 10 km run right now. They make a noise of displeasure and hope that Mark will somehow understand.

“Okeeey. I got kimchi? And I think there’s still a couple eggs in the fridge and some rice. Fried rice? You’re gonna have to make it though, remember what happened the last time i tried to make eggs.” 

That, Yeonjun is pretty sure they won’t ever forget. Definitely not until the black stain on the ceiling of their kitchen gets covered with something. Mark is a wizard of sorts in the kitchen. The bad kind that burns villages and causes catastrophes. Yeonjun considers whether not starving and/or not having the house burn down is in fact worth getting off the floor but then Mark is standing up and holding out a hand and any complaint they may’ve had dies in their throat. They take the hand and resign to their fate as Mark pulls them up.

There is a dizziness that comes with standing up fast, and with close proximity to Mark Lee, and definitely with both happening at the same time. Yeonjun’s vision blurs for a little bit as they readjust to experiencing the world in a vertical position and promptly take a step back from where Mark’s skin is soft and inviting and so close Yeonjun thinks they can feel the heat it radiates. They look at each other for a second then, Yeonjun’s vision going from blurry to hyperfocused on a drop of pink traveling down Mark’s forehead and getting lost in his eyebrow and they end up disoriented entirely when Mark turns away to walk to the kitchen. Yeonjun shakes their head to clear it and follows him, intent on not letting Mark even touch an egg if they can help it. 

The kitchen is really just a couple cupboards, a double gas burner and a fridge in the corner where the living room meets the entryway and it’s not much but it’s enough space for Yeonjun to set the cutting board down and chop some onions and the lone sausage Mark finds in the fridge. They throw those in the pan to fry and feel the sweat rise on their forehead as they stand over the heat. 

The kitchen and the living room being one, however, brings the advantage of Yeonjun being in reach of the speakers they have set by the TV, one of the few things they have allowed themselves to splurge on, and maybe sweating their ass off is not as bad when they’re doing it to the tune of their favourite playlist of Mark’s.

Both Yeonjun and Mark sing along to the SZA song currently playing and Yeonjun wonders, not for the first time, how it is that their neighbours have not complained about them yet as they both try and almost succeed in matching her high note. Yeonjun throws the premade rice in the pan as the next song starts and perhaps it is because they’re focused on stirring it or because Mark is not singing yet that he manages to sneak up on them. His touch only lasts a couple seconds as he leans over Yeonjun’s shoulder to look into the pan but the ghost of it lingers after, the hot imprint of Mark’s fingers on Yeonjun’s waist, the heat of a bare chest pressed against their upper arm. 

The heat lingers and so does Mark, hovering around the little kitchen counter and then fiddling with something in the room when Yeonjun sends him away for fear of burning their dinner if they get any more distracted. If it were Yeonjun who didn’t have to do anything, they would just go back to lying on the floor under the air conditioner, content to watch the wispy clouds pass by their window and fill their head with thoughts. Mark is not like that, though, never quite comfortable when forced to stay still, always looking for something to keep his hands busy, to keep his brain busy, always on the edge of something to do.

It used to annoy Yeonjun when they first moved in together, the constant tinkering, the way Mark never quite allowed himself to just be, but they’ve come to learn that this is how Mark  _ is _ and how he is most content. It also comes in handy at times like these when he decides to set the table just to have something to do and when Yeonjun finishes their dinner there are plates and glasses and chopsticks ready on their tiny table, complete with fresh soda cans and straws which Mark must’ve magicked out from some long forgotten party supplies.

Mark still doesn’t have a shirt on when they sit down to eat and Yeonjun considers telling him off for it or maybe joining him, half in protest and half because it is still unbearably hot, even more now with the added heat from cooking. They don’t though, not nearly as comfortable outside their clothes as Mark is. Plus their t-shirt is pretty damn cute and should be appreciated. Instead, Yeonjun decides to solve the problem of Mark’s shirtlessness by decidedly looking at the food only. This grants them a little moment of peace until   


“‘S is really good.” Mark says, mouth mostly full and torso still very naked.

“Thanks.”

“No, I’m serious, dude. It’s great!” and Yeonjun has to look up then, to where Mark is looking at them like they offended his ancestors by not taking his compliment necessary. It makes Yeonjun smile almost against their will as they thank him again with more vigor and then watch him munch on the next mouthful of rice with a content look on his face.

Dinner is an unusually quiet affair, the events of the day catching up to them both, making a hush fall over the clinking of their chopsticks against the pan, the sound of straws searching for the last bit of soda. It’s a comfortable silence, one that lets Yeonjun get lost in their thoughts without the fear of being impolite by staying there too long. Mark seems to be doing the same, hands and mouth busy while his mind is elsewhere. Maybe their brains are finally melting, Yeonjun thinks idly, the heat catching up to them after all.

They leave the dishes on the table in favour of spreading back out on the floor under the air conditioner, stomach pleasantly full and mind pleasantly empty. Mark struts over to the fridge and brings a container of watermelon over, the spoils of his quest outside. He already has a piece in his hand when he sits down and Yeonjun does not - will not - watch the juice from it drip down to his wrist when he takes a bite.

Yeonjun, who is a civilised person and doesn’t like to get their hands sticky, spears their watermelon pieces with the Mark-provided chopsticks and only gets watermelon juice on their chin. They try to do the thing where you spit the watermelon seed up into the air and both fail miserably. Yeonjun falls backwards in the chase for a flying seed and decides to stay on the floor forever, the cool wooden planks soothing under their back, and they close their eyes, sated and languid.

All that disappears very quickly when they hear Mark squeak and open their eyes precisely in time to see a black seed descending quickly towards their face and now it’s their time to yell and dodge out of the way as Mark cackles in delight. He’s still cackling when Yeonjun drags him to the ground next to them, their angry sputtering betrayed by the laughter in their voice, the situation too absurd for them to actually be mad.

Mark is still laughing and it makes Yeonjun give into their laughter too, feeling it resonate through their body as they fall back down to the floor, aiming their mirth at the ceiling above. The joy stays after the laugh tapers off, some irrational delight at being alive right here in this moment, to see and feel the things they do. Suddenly it all feels sort of miraculous, the heat and the sunlight on the walls and the black seeds still around them.

They turn their head to smile their delight at Mark and find him already looking, close enough for Yeonjun to see all the details on his face even in the fading light of the sunset. There is a stray pink droplet of sweat on his temple and Yeonjun- Yeonjun is a body possessed, all thoughts gone from their head except  _ pink _ and  _ Mark _ and  _ skin _ and they’re turning, reaching a hand out to touch the tips of their fingers over the contours of Mark’s face before they can stop themself. 

Mark’s eyes go wide when they make contact, swipe at the pink bead, linger. In a trance, Yeonjun lets their thumb glide down, where it catches just the corner of Mark’s lips, the barest of brushes and they have never seen Mark so still, as if he wasn’t even breathing. In all honesty, Yeonjun is not sure they’re breathing themself and their fingers move on their own, thumb brushing down the plush of Mark’s lips and like this they can  _ feel _ the way his inhale shakes and then he’s closing his eyes, lashes brushing over Yeonjun’s index finger, raven against gold and Yeonjun knows, knows what he’s expecting as he pushes his face ever-so-slightly into Yeonjun’s hand. They still have to ask though, maybe for themself, too, voice the action into the space between them before it becomes real.

“I’m going to kiss you, ok?” whispered, every word fragile like blown glass.

Mark’s lashes flutter against their finger but he doesn’t open his eyes, just breathes his “Yes” over Yeonjun’s thumb still on his lip and Yeonjun slides the finger down to his chin and replaces it with their mouth and reality blurs, evaporates to nothing but the feel of Mark against their lips. 

Mark kisses them back and Yeonjun’s thumb is between their chins now and they feel his jaw move with the kiss, a faint tremble that is present in their bones too, a resonance of the joy felt earlier and something in their chest coming unraveled as they kiss again and again, syrupy slow but shaky still, too new to be confident. Mark’s lips are soft and sweet against Yeonjun’s and they bite the bottom one lightly, a grazing of teeth over spit-slick skin and feel Mark tremble against their hand. They swallow his answering gasp, a molten little thing of a sound, sweet on Yeonjun’s tongue like a drop of caramel.

On their lips, in their touches, in the little sounds between them there is a desire that is patient, that understands that every new press of lips is a sensation to be savoured, an entity for itself. It makes their kisses quiver just a little, makes Yeonjun’s fingers hesitant, tentative as they bury them in Mark’s hair and Mark kisses the corner of their lips and their cheek and chuckles into their skin. His kisses are kind of clumsy but honest in the way Mark always is, his too big heart always on his sleeve.

Yeonjun kisses him on the nose just because they want to and they giggle together, incredulous and joyful and then Mark kisses their lips again and there is nothing for Yeonjun to do but to kiss back, press into whatever this new thing is that they have. Time loses meaning, the world reduced to the meeting of their lips, to the way Mark’s hair feels under Yeonjun’s hand and how he purrs when they scratch his scalp lightly.

Yeonjun doesn’t really register any part of their body which is not touching Mark until they feel a tap of fingers on their hip. When they look at him, Mark’s eyes are blown and his eyebrows a question and Yeonjun has barely finished nodding permission when they feel Mark’s hand on their skin. It’s hot and watermelon juice-sticky under their shirt, calloused fingers over the bumps where Yeonjun’s bones hide under their skin and they’re gentle, like Yeonjun is an ornament Mark doesn’t want to break, like they are something precious, treasured.

It’s too much, the sensation of that, too much for Yeonjun to still be able to focus on kissing when they’re being touched like this and Mark doesn’t seem to be doing better but they never quite move apart, noses pressed to cheeks and breaths shared, lips touching and not. 

“You can-” Mark breaths into the space between them and it takes Yeonjun far too much time to realise he even spoke, they don’t quite manage to decipher what he said before he speaks again, “You can touch me too, if you want.” and  _ oh, yes, Yeonjun wants. _

They untangle their hand from Mark’s hair and run it down his throat, to his chest, careful, gentle, reverent, just the pads of their fingers touching skin. They feel it shiver under their touch, feel the rise and fall of Mark’s chest with his breaths, the raised scar tissue and the bumps of his last ribs, the soft of his stomach. It’s overwhelming, being allowed to know Mark like this, allowed to touch him and learn him over again, learn him anew, to be learned in return.

Mark captures their lips again and the world spins with sensation, with all the places they are touching and it’s heady and addictive and they kiss and kiss, until the world outside becomes dark and quiet and it’s finally cold enough to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> if you made it this far i luv u
> 
> you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kamyskamyska)


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